


Desire is Full of Endless Distances

by Cinaed



Category: Justified
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-29
Updated: 2011-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you kiss him, it's the sweetest kind of sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire is Full of Endless Distances

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Boyd/Raylan, hellfire.'

When you kiss him, it's the sweetest kind of sin. 

His mouth is still and stunned beneath yours for a moment. Then you feel that familiar grin tugging at his lips, drawing yours up in an echo of mirth. 

If you end the kiss now, he'll catch his breath and say  _something_  to ruin this moment, either about what your daddies would think or how the reverend wouldn't look kindly on this sort of indiscretion. Something like that. 

So you don't stop kissing him. 

Instead you take him by the shoulders and push him down into the dirt. 

He's warm even in this late summer evening when the air's crisp and cold against your neck, like he's got fire running through his veins instead of blood. ( _Hellfire_ , an ignored voice whispers in the back of your head,  _hellfire and the flames of damnation_.) You can feel the heat through his clothes, in those callused hands of his that grab your wrists and hold on, tight and unyielding.

"Come on," you say, and kiss him again. This time the kiss is tender, or maybe it's just mocking tenderness, the way he always mocked you for wanting more than the mining job. 

This time he kisses you back, makes a little eager sound in the back of his throat that goes straight through you like a lightning bolt. He tightens his grip on your wrists, tries to roll you both so that he's on top. 

You wrestle for a while, stealing kisses and touches and tussling on the ground like a pair of fools until you're both breathless and desperate for it. 

He grinds against your thigh, the heat and wetness seeping through your jeans. He's got your shirt off, somehow, the crafty bastard, and has licked a swipe down your chest that made goosebumps break out all over. 

"C'mon," he pants, rubs against you until you can't think straight. 

"I--" you say, and then look at his face. It's lit by an inner glow, makes his eyes shine like stars. "Shit," you say instead, and kiss him hard as you come.

He comes a second later, one hand halfway in his jeans and the other clutching at your shoulder, jagged fingernails leaving imprints on the skin. "Fuck," he says after a moment, sounding dazed and near-euphoric. 

You look at him for a second. His expression is empty of everything but sated contentment and maybe a little smugness. There's the red mark on his throat where you bit him, and there's a few pieces of grass caught in his hair. 

( _Hellfire_ , the voice whispers again.  _You think you can have this in your little town and not see the wrath of God fall upon both your heads? You think you can be_  happy?)

"What?" he asks, noticing your look.

You open your mouth to say something, you're not sure what. 

What comes out is, "I'm leaving. Joining the Marshals." 

The light goes out of his eyes. It's a little like watching a star die, you think, but the words can't be taken back. Besides, had he really expected anything from you? You can't give him a white picket fence, a home, anything close to happiness. 

"This your fucked-up way of sayin' good-bye then?" he asks, and snorts. "Hell, guess one of us has to get out of this place. Shoulda known it'd be you."

Once again your mouth has a mind of its own, says, "Join the military. Do  _something_. You want to follow in your father's footsteps?"

"Fuck you, Givens," he says. He doesn't sound angry, though. Just tired. He gets to his feet, and you can't read the expression on his face. 

You should say something more, something kinder than that, you think, but all the words have dried up, your tongue heavy and useless in your mouth.

"Good luck," he says. It almost sounds like he means it. 

You don't call after him as he goes. Instead you breathe in the night air and ignore the pounding of your heart in your ears, the desperate beat that calls,  _Come back. Come back._


End file.
